Prayers
by Angelada
Summary: It'd been there, hidden under layers of glossy indifference, painted so carefully by experience, a flicker of desire, a hint of impious intent… It rested dormant, never given space to manifest, boiling his insides from under the metal of his armour; a punishment for his hypocrisy, for sins he wasn't committing, but thoughts of depravities he wasn't condemning.
1. Pray for Wisdom

_I've… twisted a little the plot/ timeline (?) by making Sebastian a follower in Act 1 for a short while … all for the sake of the storyline, of course (that and I found it unfair that I couldn't have Bethany and him with me in the same party almost all the game). Nothing else will be altered much. It may contain some spoilers for The Mark of the Assassin later on, and some minor spoilers for various guests in general; I'm thinking it will be about 3 chapters long. I make no promises when I will finish them, though, I'm easily distracted._

_And…I believe I'm babbling aimlessly already…feel free to ignore me._

* * *

It'd been there, hidden under layers of glossy indifference, painted so carefully by experience, a flicker of desire, a hint of impious intent… It rested dormant, never given space to manifest, boiling his insides from under the metal of his armour; a punishment for his hypocrisy, for sins he wasn't committing, but thoughts of depravities he wasn't condemning. The teachings told him of the enormity of his fall, he had been able to tell from the start, had felt it; the shift that spelled his doom.

* * *

It started on a hot, summer day; somewhere on the narrow streets leading towards the docks, under an unforgiving sun, surrounded by the acrid smell of poverty and salt. Sebastian couldn't remember why they were there that day, except for the fact that Hawke asked him to join him on some errands, and that along the way they'd ended up taking on a job that had something to do with some dwarfs nobility and a lot of angry Carta Thugs and Assassins.

He could not have pinpointed the exact moment it happened, mostly because they've been in the middle of a battle, and battles alongside Hawke had always been swift and frantic. All he remembered was the graceful, wide movement of Bethany's staff and the fire in her eyes. He hadn't noticed them before; not until she'd screamed his name in warning as he had just finished pulling at the string of his bow, letting loose an arrow that pierced the space between a man's eyes with ease. Her dark hair sprayed behind her, and he was taken in by her eyes, wide and bright, by the glow of her skin and the shape of her mouth.

Time slowed down, and he could only stare at the concerned creasing of her brows, at the soft angles of her face and the harsh lines of her frown. He'd knew the mage to be beautiful, but not like this, shards of ice mingling with her hair, catching the midday sunlight sharply, her cheeks flush from the residue heat of her latest fireball.

"Get out of the way!"

And by the time her voice had hushed, there was something cold prickling the back of his neck. Behind him, a cone of ice, within which was frozen a Carta Assassin that would have stabbed him in the back, and he realised she'd saved his life.

Everything was a blur of knifes, arrows and spells after that. The fight was won and the blood in his veins stopped pumping so frenziedly, even with the image of Hawke's sister so stubbornly engraved in his mind.

"Let's go, we should tell Lord Harrowmont that the cost is clear." Hawke's voice rose over the restless sounds of the city, and his head stood tall as always, a pleasant smile on his noble face, pulling at the corners of his eyes.

They moved eagerly, blood staining all their clothes and armours and mixing with the sweat and dirt from fighting in the dusty streets. It was a look that suited Isabela well, he thought, but was not at all to his tastes.

He caught sight of movement from the corner of his eye, dark hair, loose robes, smooth skin, and he instinctively slowed his pace, to walk besides her.

Bethany noticed him, turned her head, fixed him with her golden gaze, and smiled. Her face lit up and her eyes lowered shyly after a moment, showing off her dark lashes.

Maker, her smile…

He didn't know how he managed not to gasp like a fish, but somehow he did, and he even remembered to thank her for saving him.

She'd laughed lightly, eyes bright and teeth showing, and she'd graciously accepted his gratitude, speaking out her certainly that he would do the same for her, eventually.

A few weeks later, he did, of course, killing the Shades that materialized behind her in a hail of arrows, and she'd smiled at him then, too. Her soft, musical voice rangher thanks over the dim of metal clashing against demonic flesh.

The after-match of the battle was more nerve-wrecking that the actual fighting. Since she'd dazzled him with her smile, he'd convinced himself that he would not give in into temptation again. Bethany was a sweet girl, proper, kind and friendly, but she was still just a girl, Hawke's little sister, and above all else, a mage, he should not allow himself get so easily distracted by something as simple as the turning of her mouth. Butit didn't work quite like that.

The two of them almost always remained somehow in the back, chatting, and her sweet demeanour made him doubt himself, made him question his determination not to get too close to the woman, her smiles always disarming.

"So, Sebastian... you're a prince" She started, in a whisper. He tried not to notice the wonderful interest in her voice; it brought back memories most… disorderly.

"That is my lot, Lady Hawke." He answered just as quietly, although he did not doubt that both Isabela and Hawke could hear them. The mage laughed softly, angling her head towards him.

"I'm a mage. I don't hear "Lady" very often." She admitted thoughtfully, somehow shy. He almost, _almost_ wished she would stop smiling, then, but he liked the sight too much to really do.

The price smiled in return, a bit of his old charm and pretension shining through his gestures. "You were made as you are. I have yet to see evidence of the Maker's fallibility. I certainly don't see any in you." He breathed, and he could not completely rein in the knowing glint in his eyes after she blushed, noticeably even in the poor lighting.

"I... oh my." Bethany gasped most entrancingly, because not even she would have missed his well-placed jab. Such a sweet sound, he wouldn't have minded hearing it again… and that was entirely inappropriate, of course, not that the comment that invoked that reaction out of the woman had been intended to be all that appropriate 'd vaguely heard Hawke's chuckle somewhere in front of them and saw him pull Isabela closer to his side, the rogue whispered something in pirate's ear.

They both proceeded to laugh in unison, sneaking peeks the archer's way. Sebastian had the decency to flush and clear his smiled shyly his way and fastened her pace to close the distance that had formed between them and her brother. He followed suite, telling himself he would not forget himself in the presence of the apostate anymore.

She _did_ look wonderful when flushed, though, and that smile...

Oh, Divine Prophet, what was he thinking?

After that day, he'd started praying for wisdom, as it was clear he lacked any.


	2. Pray for peace of mind

He'd seen her only rarely in the time that followed. It took Hawke and his companions only two months or so to take care of the men he'd wanted dead, and Sebastian hardly had time to go on adventures with the rogue after that. And even if he had, it wouldn't have done to spend so much time with people so…unique. Sure, they were good people, mostly, but their line of work was not all that righteous.

He would see the apostate in the Chantry- strangely enough, seeing her certain position- and she would greet him, smile and ask him how he's been doing.

"Serving the Maker and his Divine Bride is an arduous task, but also one full of rewards; it does me well." He'd answered one instance.

Her eyes looked far away as she responded, her features subtlety betraying the depth of her thoughts.

"It must be nice, being able to serve the practice your faith so openly." The sadness he recognized in her words told him that the woman was more of an Andrastian than many of the rich people that so regularly visited the Chantry, mouths wording prayers they did not hear and eyes empty. "You know, when I was little, I used to wonder why I couldn't go at the sermons like all the others. I wanted to know why I was born…different; who else to ask if not the Maker, no?" She fiddled with her skirts, nervous, as if even such an indirect hint to her being a mage would bring upon her the full wrath of the Templars. For the first of many times, he learnt to appreciate and respect the young woman's courage; the sacrifices and risks she was taking by coming here, by having faith.

His eyes softened then; even he could not help but ponder why someone as sweet as Bethany was given the burden of magic. How would her life and the life of her family been if she was born without her abilities? No more running, no need to hide from the Templars; wouldn't it have been easier? He did not doubt that the Maker had had his reasons for what happened, but he was neither impetuous nor ignorant enough to claim to know them.

"Had you not been as you are, you would not have been standing here today, Bethany. Think of it as a necessity; how many times did your nature save your life or that of your brother?" The price asked, voice mellow as they sat, kneeling together before a red sea of burning candles. "The Maker is all-knowing and all-merciful. The life and powers He gifted you have been given with a purpose."

Sebastian placed his hand on her shoulder, feeling the heat of her body through her thin dress shirt, he was distracted enough not to notice. A crease cut across his forehead and his dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration; after a moment of thought, he spoke with earnest and quiet passion, a voice he used to recite his many prayers. "The Maker's light is bright enough to guide us all, but not all of us can follow it. As long as you trust in His judgement, everything else will come to you."

Bethany smiled softly, tentatively, yet there was still turmoil in the golden pits of her eyes.

Then, unexpectedly, her expression set itself in concentration, her hands fisting onto the fabric of her skirts as she sat, kneeling carefully outside of the slowly-forming pools of molten wax, and she prayed.

She prayed obediently, in a demeanour that spoke of great endurance.

She prayed with a sense of acceptance, her voice an easy caress of familiar words. She knew these words, and, he could tell, she knew them well, perhaps a verse she held dear, linked intimately to her soul. How much he wanted to understand where this familiarity came from took him by surprise; and for the life of him, he could not tear his gaze away from this woman, this mage, nor could he hear anything but her quiet, heart-felt chant.

_"Though all before me is shadow,_

_Yet shall the Maker be my guide._

_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._

_For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_

_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."_

It was then that Sebastian knew how well she understood him, his words, what the teaching of Andraste were meant to inspire, and how much _he_ wanted to understand _her_.

Her voice faded into the collective prayers of the mob, the shuffling of feet and rustling of robes. In the distance, a Mother had started singing, inviting people to come join the morning sermon, and the only thing that told him Bethany had said anything was the trembling of her lips and her tightly closed eyes. He wondered if she could feel the weight of his eyes on her, even then.

"Thank you for reminding this, Ser. It has been a long while since I had the opportunity to pray like this." She told him, calm and smiling again; and still, there was something more she wasn't saying; he realized there was always more when it came to her.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Lady Hawke." He protested. "It is my honour to be of help."

She laughed, a light, delighted laugh, but also one that was brief; she shushed her outburst in her sleeve, immediately aware of where she was. Her smile turned disbelievingly, but warm. "I shall never get used to being referred to with such formality." She declared, lightly shaking her head, sending the dark tresses flying.

She really was beautiful.

The actual sermon started, and somewhere behind him Sebastian could have made out Hawke's outline by the outside-doors, had he been looking.

_She_ saw it, and she spared little time in the Chantry after that, quick on her feet and even quicker out of sight, unusually good at making herself scarce.

Or maybe not so unusual, if she'd spend much of her life hiding and running away for Templars. It was a grim thought, but one he could not take back.

He found himself wishing she had stayed longer, for reasons he pretended not to comprehend. He was not a weak man, but this woman had succeeded to unsettle him, first with a smile and then with the nature of her beliefs, and he wanted nothing more than to have a better understanding of why this had happened.

His mind was troubled, and for the first time in some time, he had new questions he needed answered, some others than where his real duty laid. His talk with Bethany had made him think about the real place of mages before the Maker, and whatever it was right for them to be excluded from the claim to believe in Him if they were not part of the Circle. And even if that was not the case, was it right -_fair_- to expect them to believe in the Maker, knowing that before Him they are cursed, seeing them feel the disadvantages caused by magic and the many restrictions and inequalities it brought?

Sebastian wondered, briefly, if mages often felt as if the Maker has truly deserted them.

It was not in his power to tell, and he felt reluctant to consult with the Grand Cleric or any of the Mothers in the Chantry. Even if he knew very well that he should let the Templars know about any apostates in the city, he could never bring himself to turn Bethany in; he would not risk giving her away by talking even with Her Grace, no matter how much he trusted the wise woman.

He inhaled the calming smell of wax and oil, heard Grand Cleric Elthina joining the singing, and he returned to duties.

He prayed for peace of mind.

On a second thought, he prayed for Bethany's as well.


	3. Pray tomorrow

Summer in Kirkwall was unusually hot, compared with those he was used to. The sun was almost scorchingly bright, the earth dry and hard, even near the relatively-secluded paths that coiled up the mountains and into the bowels of Sundermount. And while the earth was thirsty for rain, the air itself was humid in the most unpleasant way possible. His first summer in Kirkwall was indeed, most unpleasant, no less so because of the emptiness brought to him by his mindless wish for revenge.

In a way, his family's murder _had_ been avenged, thanks to Hawke's readiness to make a profit, and the man had been more than competent in Sebastian's eyes, having deserved every single silver he received ,and then some. But the spilling of more blood hardly helped clean the evil that befell the Vael family, and he only wished he had known that sooner.

It was the feeling of filth imprinted under his skin that made him so adamant to stay in the Chantry, even after Hawke questioning the purpose of such a thing. Serving Starkheaven was his duty by blood-right, but the Maker was a just-as-important cause to serve.

It had been insightful, to say the least: serving under the Grand Cleric, living in Kirkwall, meeting Hawke. It couldn't have been a coincidence, what happened, and he felt almost like he owed it to himself to stay and find out what the all-wise had in store for him in this corrupted city, brewing with conflict and defined by excesses. Too much waste in Hightown, too little scraps for Darktown, too much violence all together…this was Kirkwall, and just when he though the city throw all it could at him, something else would came along to prove him wrong.

* * *

The Hanged Man was one of the locations he never though he'll end up getting accustomed with, not since he'd left behind the wildness of his youth. And still, Sebastian found himself surrounded by the stale air and unpleasant aroma of something tangy and acidulous, as if his past refused to let go of him; not that any of the taverns he used to spend his adolescence in were ever this run-down. Discreetly, he eyed the dubious stains in the wooden flooring with distaste and mild curiosity, but swiftly decided he did not want to know where they came from, really.

Had he known _this_ was where Hawke insisted on meeting, he would have worn something less striking than his golden-rimmed armour.

It'd been almost a month since the Starkheaven archer paid the rogue for a job well-done, time in which he hardly saw the man again, and only occasionally saw his sister, although her visits to the Chantry increasingly reduced in frequency. He could see where her growing caution came from, especially since Knight-Commander Meredith had seemingly started to increase the number of Templars patrolling Hightown. He fully expected both siblings to move on and forget about him, even if he was a prince and heir to country; he admitted that they were busier people than him.

Thus, it did come as a surprise when the woman's quick-witted, dark-haired brother invited him to talk and drink with him and his companions. Sebastian had politely refused the idea of drinking, naturally, but could not pretend himself not interested in spending some time outside his chambers, and talking with someone else than a brother or sister of the Faith.

"Sebastian!" Hawke greeted him with a pleased smirk and a hand-full of pints in his arms; no doubt he had been in charge of getting the drinks for the night. "So glad you could make it, we've feared you would get lost on the way here, even if you insisted you wouldn't; it seems you're more familiar with Lowtown at night than I thought!" The man joked, still smirking toothily, as he lead the way up the stairs to what the price suspected were Varric chambers. There were no real doors to set aside the rooms from the hall, but the familiarity with which the dwarf sat in his chair and the comfortable atmosphere around the dirty table were saying something.

In a corner, he made out a small elven figure fidgeting with something round and small that looked remarkably like a ball of thread, and on the elf's right were none other than Bethany and Aveline, both chatting happily. The pirate, Isabela, was playing what appeared to be Wicked Grace with Varric, Fenris and a man Sebastian recognized as the Healer of Darktown, Anders, from the Hawke siblings' description of the mage. The last one appeared to be losing, and quite badly at that.

"Places everyone!" The rogue on his right shouted over the noise of all the chatting, and it started Sebastian to hear such a loud sound come from the man, louder even then the uproar outside. He knew from experience how much the rogue relied on stealth when fighting. "Stop your bricking, we have a guest, and no, Isabela, you cannot pounce on him." In a few precise movements, Hawke knocked back a chair and gracefully landed in it, nonchalantly motioning with his hands for Fenris to pass him his cards. The elf did so with a sour look, not appreciating being ordered around all that much, understandably.

A few curious pairs of eyes settled on the newcomer shortly after. The elf female, whose name he had yet to learn, stared at him quite openly, her big, verdant irises dark in the poor light, and her childishly-curiosity just somehow unsettling. Aveline greeted him with a curl nod, but she was obviously in a good mood, and so were Varric and Isabela, seeing as they were counting their shared profit in glee. The blonde mage was visibly frustrated, muttering under his breath and barely paying him any mind, and Fenris was glaring at something.

"Sebastian?"

He almost snapped his head in response, but managed not to make a big fool of himself by keeping a calm face. "Why, hello, ladies. Bethany. Aveline." He bowed his head their way.

"Care to sit with us?" The guardswoman asked, smiling lightly.

"Of course." Sebastian answered, smiling politely in return. "I hear you will soon be appointed Captain of the Guard, Aveline. I am glad to hear it. How are things at the barracks?"

The woman smiled again, clearly pleased with this topic of conversation. "All is well, prince. Nothing some work and discipline cannot achieve." She told him, something certain and almost prideful in her tone. It was a nice change for the warrior, usually so very strict, to see her so at ease. The position of Captain was sure to do her well, too; it always helped to have a purpose, something to do in such tumultuous times. People like Aveline weren't meant to passively follow orders; there were leaders, people not afraid to get their hands dirty. It was one of the things he appreciated most about Fereldens and their mentality.

"How are things at the Chantry?" Aveline continued the conversation amiably, and he took some time to tell her all she may want to know, and then inquired about the strange elf, Merrill, as he later learnt that she was named. It was well past dusk by the time the red-head announced her leave, with Merrill in tow. Bethany said her goodbyes to both, but remained seated in her chair, looking only a little worn-out, and that was when Sebastian remembered she still was there.

Merrill scurried after the tall, human warrior, and soon there were only Varric, Fenris, Bethany and he that remained, Hawke and Isabela having disappeared sometime after the two women's parting. Had he not been so reckless in his earlier years, maybe he wouldn't have had such a clear idea as to what they might be doing.

He heard Bethany sigh softly in her seat, her chest heaving, he told himself it really wasn't something that he should have noticed, not in a place like this, and in the company of others, too. He felt just vaguely ashamed of himself.

"You seem deep in thought, Lady Hawke. Are you well?" He asked, noticing her deeply knitted brows and dull eyes.

She turned towards him, blinked, as if startled. "I'm fine, just a bit drowsy. It is too warm and stuffy inside, the moment I'll have some fresh air I'll be more than ready to fight alongside my brother, even." She answered quickly, dismissing the question with a demonstrative gesture of her hand, and the corners of her lips very reluctantly set into a smile.

He laughed briefly.

"I do not doubt that." He said, and he meant it.

It was after a long, surprisingly comfortable silence that Sebastian finally turned away from the mage, not wanting her to think his gaze on her for so long rude of inappropriate.

"Has anyone ever told that your accent is distracting?" Bethany asked, not really meeting his eyes, and this time, his head did snap in response.

"Distracting?" He quirked a brow and the corner of his mouth twitched, unsure if to frown or smile. "Yes, my accent has been commented now that we are not in Starkheaven anymore, but I do not believe it had ever been called distracting before. Why do you ask? Do you find it distracting?" He inquired softly, not feeling it necessary to attract the attention of anyone else in the room. His intense, blue eyes turned to the mage curiously. On his left, Bethany shifted in her seat, her robes making little racket, and he felt her hesitance and embarrassment in her small smile; saw it in the movement of her lithe fingers as they played with her dark hair.

"I…no, no! of course not!" She protested feebly, and quickly tried to brush the comment aside, changing the subject and gesticulating wisely. "I have a hint of an accent, too. Meeran, the man we worked for some while back, used to tell us about how easily he had picked up on our origin because of it." She snorted, a hint of distaste colouring her expression, and it was fascinated to watch her, now that her coyness was gone. "As if it wasn't more than obvious we were Fereldens from the start. Who else smelled so horribly of fish and salt if not someone who spent weeks on a blasted ship?" She shook her head, irritated by the memory.

"I'll take it you didn't like the man all that much?' The archer smiled, visibly amused with the woman's reaction. It was a refreshing sight, seeing someone so open and uninhibited in this angry city. It was even better since this was Bethany, and it felt like she especially deserved some moments to carelessly wind out such simple, frustrating memories.

"I'm sure Carver would have loved the man!" She said, laughing softly, and it was good not to see much sadness leak into her eyes as she spoke of her brother. No doubt, the mage felt like her twin deserved more than just her sorrow and guilt; she smiled absently, fondly, gaze fixed in space for just a moment. "I never did like him, though." Bethany confessed, resting her cheek in her right hand and staring at something past his shoulder. "But work is work, isn't it? As long as it meant Garrett, Mother and I would have somewhere to rest out heads at night we weren't going to complain. I, for one, never did, and it wasn't as easy as it may seem. Meeran was not the kindest of men." She spoke, smiling wirily, with the wisdom and patience of someone much older, of maybe it was just the experience of a life full of hardships and sacrifices that made her appear so. Sebastian, never having really experienced true scarcity, but having seen plenty of it due to his role in the Chantry, could only admire the woman, her strength and her far-sightedness. For someone so young, and she was young, having just recently entered her twenties, she was not less open-minded and knowledgeable than her brother.

He found it- her- intriguing. Maybe that was why he decided to stay so long that night, talking with the woman, why he wasn't bothered that he had spent so much time in a shady Lowtown tavern, or that he had duties to attend to early the next morning.

He'd missed saying his nightly prayers, but he found it strangely not worrying. It couldn't have been a good sign.

* * *

Alright, turns out this is probably going to take more than 3 chapters to finish, a lot more… I just hope I won't bore everyone to death by the time I reach Act 3, I am an _extremely_ slow writer, and I have a tendency to stretch every little scene endlessly.


	4. Pray wordlessly

With the summer reaching its end came a feeling of foreboding. He'd heard of Hawke's plans to go on an expedition in the Deep Roads, of all places, and he'd known from the man himself that they have been saving money for it for some time now. No matter how much he trusted in the rogue's ability to take care of himself and his friends, Sebastian still felt uneasy at the thought of the dusty, darkspawn-infested underground corridors. Hawke had been a friend to him, or as close to one as he could have been, since the prince's arrival in Kirkwall, and he wouldn't have wanted the man or his close ones to get hurt. He'd spoke briefly with Varric on the subject of their expedition's safety, and the crossbowman had seemed very sure of himself and his crew. Unfortunately, the dwarf didn't strike the archer as the most trust-worthy character; loyal, he was, honest, not so much; he was a storyteller after all. Sebastian just hopped that at least they weren't planning on taking Bethany with them.

On one of the nights he was invited to join Hawke's odd group at The Hanged Man, he'd brought up the subject. Needlessly to say, Hawke had been a bit surprised, but not suspicious; for that, Sebastian was grateful.

"Take Bethany with me?" The man asked after a curious pause, puzzled and strangely deep in thought. "I've been thinking about it lately, honestly, since we're almost ready to go through with this nutsy plan. I haven't really made up my mind just yet. All I know is this…" He started, and the seriousness and concern in the man's voice was unexpected and disquieting. "Bethany wants to go, and that worries me. I don't want her down there, even if she is more than capable of taking care of herself. I've lost one sibling because of the Blight, I won't lose another one." He started in space, a hard, unforgiving edge to his dark gaze and the turning of his lips. Interestedly, he'd asked Sebastian why he wanted to know, and the prince could only be honest. He owned at least that to Hawke.

"I have a bad feeling about it. I cannot say why, but I think it would be better if you thought well on this before taking any decision. Be careful, my friend."

"I will." His companion told him, and it sounded like a promise. For Sebastian, it was good enough.

* * *

The day after he had that conversation, something…unusual…happened. It was the only thing he could have called the incident, since it was hardly a normal happening that an apostate would come to him to ask him for the right to confession. And it was even more unheard of for a Brother of the Chantry, like himself, to ignore many of the orders and regulations of the church and fulfil such a request.

It was a breaking of the Maker's rules, a sin, perhaps, but it was, at the same time, not so simple.

When Bethany came to the Chantry late at night, a pained glint in her eyes and a shadow hanging over her figure, it was anything but simple to ignore the desperate, defeated hint in her plead. It was a plea made at the last resort, in full awareness of the dangers she was putting herself in, and Sebastian could not deny something like that. If she was so brave as to seek him out like she did, he could at least honour that.

He'd taken her hand, a small, pale thing, and led her away from where they could have been ear-dropped on, to the secluded space upstairs. "We'll be safer here." He smoothed her, sensing her unease, and tried not to think too much about what he was doing.

Answering the way he did to her request may not have made him a better Brother, but it made him a better man.

"I haven't really expected you to agree. I know I am selfish for putting you in such a position." Bethany spoke softly from the darkness, once they were safe in one of the old confession booths, the ones that were rarely used anymore and far away from the Templars standing guard outside. "The Maker tells us we are all equal under him, and it took you a lot of courage to come here, it would have been unfair to deny you such a small favour." He responded, fully aware that this was misconduct in the eye of the Chantry no matter how he looked at it, but equally willing to forget it. "You are a good woman, Bethany, and a good Andrastian, considering…" His voiced died out after that, letting his words hang out between the two of them.

"Thank you." She broke the silence, and he imagined that she was smiling softly. "Mother always believed in the Maker, even after I was born…differently. When I was little, I used to pray with her in the morning, and it always made me so happy, it put me at ease. It felt like having someone to talk to, someone that understood. After my father passed away, there was no one else there to talk to, not someone like me." It was too dark to see the woman's face, with the darkness and the lattice between the compartments of the booth; it was as if she wasn't even there. Only her voice, hushed and warm, flooded his senses, capturing them. It was easy to listen to her talk and forget himself in the sound of it.

She wasn't bothered by his silence, and he wondered if she thought this was how a confession was supposed to take place. He let her talk, listening with interest, and it was not hard to do so; unlike the things people usually came to confessions for, she was not begging forgiveness for sins did willingly. She was telling him a story; the story of her life, of her flaws and mistakes. She was not demanding, not even _expecting,_ forgiveness, only admitting to all the things that ever made her feel guilty. There were few that she thought were worth mentioning.

"Lately, I've been in a fight with Garrett and Mother, because they won't let me go to the Deep Roads with the others. I know I may seem selfish, and that they only want to protect me, but I've still said some awful, undeserved things." She sighed heavily. "I know I shouldn't be angry with them like I am…but I guess I often feel like I need to prove myself. It's petty, really." There was the smallest sign of hesitance on her part, before she continued meticulously, careful not to be too loud.

"I was always jealous of my brothers, angry at times, because they never had to struggle with odd dreams, glowing hands or eyes. They never needed to fear going in town or getting angry, never had to hide their nature. They could flaunter their abilities and skills and be loved and admire for it." She admitted, with some strain in her tone, and her robes rustled from the other side of the wooden panel.

"And there were times when I cursed magic, and being born this way."

A rushed breath left her lips, and she paused, letting the quietude of the Chantry speak for her, as if she expected admonishment. It never came, and she eventually moved on.

"I couldn't save Carver, I couldn't save my own brother. I just…couldn't." She confessed, in a trance, her words betraying morbid astonishment. "He was tossed in the air, and I couldn't even move, I did nothing to catch him. And then, he was down again, and I didn't know any healing magic to help him. I just stood there, feeling broken." It was pain that tainted her voice, and overwhelming guilt. "Why haven't I? Why haven't I ever bothered to learn something useful at least, if I was given magic? Since I failed then, I've been wanting to do something to prove I'm not useless, but I still reacted like I did." The sound of her breathing resounded otherworldly. "I just wanted to confess that, to let someone know how unreasonable I've been; how I'm guilty of selfishness and anger." She whispered brokenly. "I never could forgive myself for not being able to..."

"Thank you for listening." The silence that followed was sobering, and she didn't ask for clemency.

Sebastian had a hard time breathing properly, and he could tell she was not crying only because of the fact that she had cried enough already. The pain she was feeling was dull and longstanding, familiar like the prayers she voiced, fleetingly, in his presence.

It wasn't the first time he felt helpless, nor was it the first time he realised how little he understood the world, but it felt worse now, knowing that he had nothing to say, no wise input that may help this woman, a mage, an apostate , even, but first and foremost a friend and a woman he well-regarded. Sebastian was born a man of wealth and social standing, and he had been expected to rule a nation, had something happened to his brothers (and it had, it had, not that he wanted to remember it), but he could have admitted then, in the bare and cold room, in the subtle presence of a mage, that he did not knew enough about magic and what came with living with it, for once; or at least not at much as he was inclined to believe.

The door to Bethany's compartment slid open, and he shook himself quickly, following her outside.

Strangely enough, she was smiling, not out of happiness, but out of relief.  
"I feel so much better now." She breathed, a bit of embarrassment colouring her face. "I know what I did-coming here- was foolish, but I felt like…talking about it, and I thought of yo- this." Her smile softened and her golden-brown eyes illuminated her expression, a show of gratitude. In the obscure light, she looked almost like an apparition, with her pale skin and warm, secretive gaze turning her image into something bizarre and intriguing.

"I'm glad to help." He finally spoke, after what felt like an eternity, and his voice sounded strange, unwelcome to his ears after his thoughts had fixed on hers for so long.

"I suppose I should go before it gets too late into the night." She muttered, one of her feet drawing circles in the floor, in a display of nervousness he found abnormally innocent, almost childish. Straightening her back and meeting his gaze, there seemed to be a question burning in her eyes.

What he was asking, if she was actually asking anything, he could not say, but there was an impulse, something he couldn't really distinguish that told him he should do something, anything; there were words sitting in his throat, that needed to be said and he couldn't decipher.

"I'll escort you out; make sure you get past the guard safely." He offered, and she smiled, as if that was what she wanted to hear all along.

She whispered a "Thank you.", and he briefly thought that she was thanking him far too much. Side by side, they crossed the halls and reached one of the exits normally used by merchants supplying the Chantry's kitchen. He figured out easily enough that this was how Bethany managed to get in without commotion. "Will you be alright from here?" Sebastian asked at the door, maybe unjustly concerned.

"Of course, I did get here all by myself in the first place." The white of her teeth was distinguishable even in the shadows, and he knew she was smiling again. "I'll try not to make a habit out of putting you in danger like this, Sebastian." She spoke with promise in her eyes. It was a strange thing, something that possibly ran in the family, but he couldn't help but believe her; a Hawke's promise was something that still held weight. No doubt Garrett Hawke would have been delighted to hear that the prince thought so.

"Good night." She wished him, a parting spoken in a soft, heart-felt voice, and he was overwhelmed with the longing to take her hand in his again, for her to stay just a bit longer. Preposterous, he chastised himself, a second later. "Good night, Bethany." He told her back, unable to address her by any title, the thought of it unfitting for the almost intimate atmosphere of the dark, still night. He found himself watching her retreating figure and until the door was firmly closed behind her; the hinges having not even made a sound as she disappeared outside, onto the streets of Hightown. The walk to his chambers seemed far too long after he turned around to return to them, his feet slightly heavy and his mind unfocused.

On his way back, he spared a moment to pray before the altar, without any real words; just him, on his knees, surrounded by the heavy smell of wax and asking for direction.

It was nothing he didn't wish for before, but this time it felt different.


	5. If at first you don't succeed, pray more

It was after two weeks after that Sebastian heard word of Bartrand's crew starting to move out. Hawke asked all his friends to come meet him in Lowtown once the supplies and workers were moved outside the entrance to the Deep roads, where he finally revealed who he and Varric were taking with them on the expedition.

Unsurprisingly, Isabela was the man's first choice, and Sebastian secretly wondered if the rogue was worried the pirate would disappear if he let her out of his sight for extended periods of time. The prince mentally shook his head; he could not claim to understand Hawke's interest in the Rivaini woman, but he was not in any position to judge, not after he had had such a hard time remembering himself around the man's own sister for some time now. Oh Maker…

The last person to join Hawke's group was Anders, fortunately, since it meant that Bethany wasn't going after all. He could understand this choice, the mage was an (ex-)Grey Warden, and he was the only one to have an idea of what awaited then in the underground ruins they were going to explore.

Neither Isabela, Anders nor Bethany seemed overly-pleased with Hawke's decisions. The pirate muttered something about how she "really doesn't like tight spaces" and the healer was visibly sour at the thought of returning to those tunnels going back to fighting darkspawns. Bethany looked equally sour and disappointed in addition to it. It was a not nice seeing her like that, biting her lips in frustration; she was restraining from saying anything, but it was easy to see how much she wanted to protest. Her mother was relived, and her brother was resolute in his stance, it would have been useless to do so anyway.

"Are you sure, brother?" She asked, one final time, and Hawke's voice took a soft tone at the tentativeness in her posture.

"You don't want to go, trust me." And, just like that, the matter was settled for good.

Bartrand sneered distastefully. "If you're finished with this nonsense…" His short arms gestured gracelessly in Bethany's general direction. "We'll set out early tomorrow, so you better be at the meeting place on time, partner." The dwarf announced, mockingly wording his phrase. "I won't wait for you if you're late."

"I won't be." The rogue answered cheekily, making the merchant frown.

"Hgh, good."

It would be a long time before Sebastian would see Hawke again.

* * *

With Hawke gone, Bethany started, surprisingly, showing up at the Chantry more often than before, despise of the unrest brewing in Kirkwall, or maybe because of it. It was a comforting thought for the prince that she should find solace in the house of the Maker, just like he did. What he did not felt comfortable with was what this new proximity that slowly created between them was doing to him. It was horribly out of place, but after only two weeks or so he could no longer keep her out of his thoughts.

He was not a fool, admittedly, far from it(he liked to think), he was skilled in the arts of combat and diplomacy alike, he was a man that knew much about things involved in the proper ruling of a kingdom and he was well-read and opened-minded(for someone in his strict position). But with all this, he was not detached eough, not around Bethany, at least.

It wasn't wise. Admiring her wasn't wise, indulging her wasn't wise, befriending her wasn't wise, Maker, not even trying to understand her was wise….

And so, sometime between the first instances he fought alongside Hawke and his sister and the date of the expedition, praying for wisdom had become part of his nightly routine. As he continued to behave unwisely, it seemed like this routine would not be interrupted. Praying was never a waste of time, and he was sure that more than ten lifetimes of praying would have been needed to wipe away the evil in Kirkwall alone, so neither was it useless, but he found that it could become tiring. In retrospect, he only felt the need to pray so much because he had started to mistrust his ability to remain disciplined, unbiased and in-control. He was used to being self-assured, as he was even in his early ignorance; thus this was not something that had ever really happened before, nor did he expect it to.

Not, he supposed, that he had ever met a girl with such light and understanding- such strength- in her eyes before either. Bethany was a sight to behold, and someone whose friendship and trust was something precious.

Sebastian just hopped with all his heart that those inappropriate urges he had around her would stop-the urge to stare, the urge to make her notice him and to he himself to notice things he shouldn't (her smile, the movement of her neck and shoulders, her hair).

"Maker show me the light, help me not stray from it, as to serve you well." He would recite under his breath, slowly, on the days he spotted the mage's graceful figure amongst the walls of the Chantry.

Unsuspecting of the things it did to him, she had started smiling more often around him and talking more openly the more frequently she visited him. Shortly enough, he thought in what could have been dismay, she would allow him to place his hand on her shoulders and stare in her eyes, without fear of discomfort. The trust the woman had placed in him as it was, was unexpected and flattering, and like a greedy fool, he could find no wrong in it, wanting more. He was not sure what kind of sins he was committing by allowing himself to think in such a way. Even if he had not allowed himself to _act_ on his thoughts (not impure but most certainly not wholly chaste), he had indulged his imagination, stretched his boundaries, until he himself was unsure what it was that he was doing. It was not simple lust that had taken over the price, for the man did not want Bethany's body as fiercely as he wanted others' before- that would have been easier to spot and quicker to cleanse-; this was… a sort of curiosity, unasked-for, ill-timed, and potentially dangerous. For the time being, he would leave it as it was, something unresolved, but small and hopefully passing, and he would pray unceasingly for the wisdom he continued to lack.

* * *

"How are you doing, Lady Hawke?" His comment must have startled Bethany, since she visibly jumped in her seat, hands fisting in the fabric of her dress, and her amber-coloured eyes widened considerably. Sebastian frowned, not expecting such a strong reaction. "Is everything all right? You seem unusually anxious."

The mage shook her head, not taking her gaze away from the Mother singing a part of the Canticle of Benedictions. "I'm fine, just…uneasy." Her fingers started to knot and unknot a piece of her dark hair methodically, and her voice became very small. "The Knight Commander has become more and more influent, and the number of Templars is in continuous rising." She cast a fugitive look his way, but continued to face the front of the Chantry, where the evening sermon was taking place. "Numbers of patrols are growing, and it's not just Hightown that this is happening in. I have seen more and more making the rounds in Lowtown lately." Her voice quivered, and he felt the strangest urge to take her in his arm, protect her from harm and hide her from the world.

"Garrett's been gone for only a short while now; and look at me…" She tightened her grip on her hair. "I'm already acting like cornered prey." Bethany's fingers untangled from her hair reluctantly, and she turned to look at Sebastian properly. "I think we've came to rely on him far too much- Mother and I." She laughed a quiet, bitter laugh. "We sometimes forget –like to forget- that he won't be here forever. It's not a hard thing to do, depend on him, I mean, he was always the one to play leader, even if he never really wanted to act the part. Mother says he takes after our father, always getting caught in adventures, finding what he isn't looking for. I supposed we weren't named after a bird of prey for nothing, we're said to have keen eyes, sharp ears and an even sharper tongues." She laughed just as quietly as before, but with less harshness.

"That you do." The prince remarked, having noticed it himself. "Surely though, your brother will not be gone too long, and even if he would happen to be, I'm assured that you are fit to take care of yourself and your mother fine enough, are you not? You are neither weak nor foolish, Bethany." The sound of her name, so simple and raw, left his lips without thought, and he hadn't really meant for his voice to sound so tender. She looked at him with big, dove-like eyes, and he silently bit the inside of his cheek, to punish himself for so carelessly opening his mouth, as it was clear that he had startled the woman. It was a long, deaf silence that followed, and then it was over- as if it never was- thanks to her response. Her expression betrayed, if not surprise, a certain degree of curiosity.

"Thank you. I…I wish I…It is good to know you have such confidence in my abilities." She confessed, honestly leaking into the words. Finally, she smiled, like he'd lifted a great burden from her shoulders, and there was no longer need for words to pass between them. It would have been so easy to smile back, to give in to the pull of her simple, beautiful manifestation of contentment, and maybe he did, but had no recollection of it, absorbed by the need to trace the lines of her face in his mind's eye. The sun had not set completely, and even if it had had, the Chantry was lit with an abundance of candles; the warm light allowed for warmer hues of pink to highlight her features, and the golden freckles in her eyes sparkled dimly, flashing at odd intervals.

"I should go; I wouldn't want to worry my mother or uncle." She spoke after an eternity of listening to prayers and songs together, after an eternity of watching the shadows in her hair. A flash of white was enough to know she was silently apologising for having to leave, and for the briefest of seconds Sebastian wondered if she too, felt reluctant to part with him like he did. That moment of weakness passed unnoticed, as he'd come to expect from Bethany, and he only listened to the mage absentmindedly. "I really appreciate all you have done for me. I know how much trouble I've caused, how much trouble I represent still, and…I really do." She went on with what she was saying, with only a hint of embarrassment, oblivious to all the things passing through his head even now, all the thoughts he wasn't supposed to conjure but sprung unbidden into his conscience at the sight of her slightly flustered face. Those, once voiced, would have probably turned her mild shyness around him into an explosion of nervousness and red cheeks and… something he should never think about, anyway.

He took a deep breath, careful not to exhale too quickly. "There is no problem. I am always glad to help." The tone of his voice seemed off to him, much too forced, false like a well-rehearsed line, and he could only hope she did not find it so as well. He would have hated for her to think him only interested in her well-being because of duty; be that duty to the Maker or even duty to her brother.

"I am always glad to help my friends." He added, and that sounded much better, being as close to the truth as he dared say aloud. Somehow, he knew that he would have listened to her if she asked him to even if he hadn't considered her his friend. He ran his hand through his hair in one swift, easy gesture, a gesture that hadn't felt the urge to perform in a long, long while, which effectively captured her attention. The familiarity was somehow disturbing, and it brought back memories even more so, memories of how he used to catch ladies' attention using small tricks like that and boyish grins. This reminder of his foolish behaviour was enough to sober him up, enough to force Sebastian into readjusting his hold on himself.

He didn't let his gaze linger too much after the woman once she turned to leave. All in all, it was a small victory.

Tomorrow she would come again.


	6. Lights

"Sebastian, I wish to speak to you."

"Of course, your Grace. Is there something in particular you would wish to talk about?"

The woman motioned him to follow her, inclining her head. "Not particularly, no, I have recently noticed, though, that you have been distracted in your duties. It has prompted my concern that something might have happened. Tell me… what is bothering you, my child?" The softness in her eyes was heart-warming, and Sebastian's respect and love for the Grand Cleric quietly demanded of him to tell the full truth of what had disrupted his routine. That, however, he could not do, and that brought about great guilt.

"It is nothing, your Grace. I have been thinking of what has come about those last months, of Starkheaven and the misery in this city." For a moment, it was quiet.

"Indeed, those are troubling thoughts." Grand Cleric Elthina allowed his lie to stand, more out of her respect for his privacy than out of unawareness on her part. "I am sure you will find peace in time, Sebastian, let your mind rest." Another pause ensued. "Tell me, that Hawke girl, Leandra Amell's daughter, is she a friend of yours?"

That question was what the archer had dreaded. Carefully, with all the delicacy of a diplomatic leader, he answered. "I… I could not say so. She is a… good woman, and she visits the Chantry often enough, I have talked with her on several occasions, and I have known her brother. He had helped me with something this summer, and he is an honest person. I am not especially close with the Hawke family, but I have had the opportunity to get to know them better than I expected in my short staying here." His performance was perfect, and the Grand Cleric smiled, more at ease.

"Very well then, this is all I wanted to talk about, you can return to your chores." She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder, urging him on. "Thank you, your Grace, I will." He let the warmth he felt in his heart trickle in his words.

* * *

Bethany did not come for the morning sermon that day, but he noticed her subtle presence later into the day, shortly before sunset. She didn't approach him, and it disturbed him far more than it should have. He made an effort to appear oblivious to her being there, but he was not confident in how well he pulled that off, he always had been incredibly aware of the mage, and sometimes it showed.

He didn't see her leave until the streets were dark and the halls were shrouded in an uneasy silence. Because of that, he was one of the last to retire to his chambers, and later, he would be the last to fall asleep. In the dim light of one lonely candle, he undressed for the night, but sleep would not come easily, he felt, and his eyes strayed towards his window. The night was dark and cool, with few stars above. Sebastian propped his body against the windowsill and from there watched for movement on the street with a critical, sharp gaze. He was hunting shadows, he scolded himself, but still, he stayed where he was. Of all the ways he expected his night to go, he never would have anticipated what would actually happen.

A flash of yellow, short-lived and blazing, shimmered and died hissing into an alley, but it was visible long enough for him to see it. It was a sign of disturbance, a warning, a taunt, but most importantly, it was magic. And he _had_ been hunting for shadows, until that light tore the sky and there were no more darkness to hide them.

There was only one mage he could think of who walked the streets of Hightown then, and, in great haste, the prince strapped on his bow and snatched his arrows. His mind worked itself into a panic unlike anything he had experienced in years, and his heart pounded furiously in his ear, spurring him on in his mad dash. Bethany was out there, and if that was her magic, that could only need that something bad had happened, she would not have risked exposing herself carelessly. There was no time to put on armour, and he only hoped he would not need it.

Of course he would.

His steps resounded strangely when he ran, much to Sebastian's displeasure. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention from the guards or the Templars. Especially not the Templars, he concluded, thinking back to Bethany's latest concerns; he shook his head to shake off the thought. Finding Bethany in the darkened city was hard enough without the added weight of fear on his mind. The courtyard was empty, expectedly, but the marketplace wasn't. Frowning, he made efforts to pay close attention to the shadows. The rumbling of feet and the rattle of armour hitting flesh announced him of the dangers he was in. Near the armour shop, a faint light still shone, and due to it he made out Bethany's worried face and the identity of her attackers. Guardsmen Pretenders, he should have known...

Reading his bow, he took a fighting stance with the ease of a practiced warrior and fixed his target. There were six men surrounding the mage, shallowguard troops. The first one was easy to dispatch, unsuspecting of the prince at his back his neck was an easy target. The other five were not so easy to handle.

"Get him!"

It was all the warning he got, before he was faced with the blades of angered warriors.

They were a bit clumsy, much to Sebastian's relief, but not completely inexperienced. Still, with quick footwork and precise jumps, he managed to get to Bethany's side unscathed. The woman seemed astounded to see him, and her magic faltered for a moment. It did not passed the men's notice, for they drew near even more menacingly.

"Can you still fight?" He shouted over the ensuring battle cries. Steadily, he prepared to rain hell over their enemies. "Bethany!" She still wasn't moving.

"Right!" Gathering energy, her hands shone bright green and she moved her staff into a wide circle that narrowly avoided hitting his head. Knitting his brow, Sebastian realised fighting this close together would be tricky. Mages need their space to cast. "I'll hold them, shot them down!"

Realising what she wanted to do, the archer nodded, he pulled the string taut and steadied his breathing.

"Glyph of Paralysis!"

The men glowed green as well, caught unprepared by the trap, and Sebastian realised a Hail of Arrows over their vulnerable selves. They groaned and grimaced in pain, but they could do little else. "Maker preserve their stupid, stupid souls." The prince muttered under his breath, and wasted no time in finishing off the ones left standing. Bethany was quiet, but ended the fight with a fireball directed at the leader of the group, who stood no chance against it.

In the aftershock of the fight, they could do little but try to regain their bearing. It wasn't really the fight that wearied out Sebastian as much as all the running he did to get to Bethany, but the woman was evidently unwell. He was only somewhat surprised when she collapsed where she stood.

Sebastian was on his knees before her in a matter of seconds, mindless of the cobblestone digging in his flesh, unbothered by the coldness of the pavement. He was fighting with himself if to lean her against himself, when she fell into his arms on her own, and for a moment he allowed himself to enjoy the feel of her flesh, strangely grateful for his thin shirt and the soft fabric of her dress. But that was only a moment, then he remembered where he was and who he was. He pushed her away, not as gently as he would have liked, and carefully examined her for injuries, taking the liberty to keep his grasp on her forearms and study her face in the blackness of the night. She was wide-eyed and fatigued, but perfectly unconcern of her position. "I'm sorry…that cost me a lot of mana…" It was all she said, like it explained everything, and then the real fight was over, and she surrounded to her exhaustion, to sleep.

It did strange things to him to know she trusted him to keep her safe, enough to allow herself to fall asleep like that.

Shaking himself again, he spend some time what he should do with the fact that he had a unconscious apostate on his hands, and found there was little he _could_ do. Sebastian couldn't let her out on the street, passed out like she was, but on the other hand neither could he take her to the Chantry –bringing a woman into his chambers in the dead of night would be questionable enough, but Bethany was a mage in hiding on top of being female. He could not take her home either, more than the fact that carrying her all the way to Lowtown was not something he thought himself capable of, even with his constitution, he had only an obscure idea as to where she lived.

Bethany sighed in her sleep, her head against his shoulder, a wonderfully smoothing sound, and he did the same. He himself had started to feel the lack of sleep.

He would take her to Aveline, he decided, since the woman was sure to know what to do, and she was certainly trust-worthy.

Tentatively, Sebastian tried to wake Bethany enough to be able to walk her to the barracks in The Keep, urging her on with soft-spoken words. She groaned, a sound that was not appreciated by his sanity, and he reluctantly gave up. He resigned himself with the fact that it would be a long time before he would know her safe with the Captain of the Guards and started walking, the mage draped onto his back.

In the back of his mind, there was still a something that kept nudging at him.

If _he_ had been able to notice the traces of Bethany's magic even from the Chantry… who else had?

* * *

I'm terribly sorry for the late update, but school is a horrible, horrible experience, and I was deprived of my free time. If you think everything is moving a bit too slowly, I understand you, and I can assure you I'll try not to linger too much on useless things from now on. A.


	7. News

"Intruders! Intruders, everyone is to be in their gear and spread out!"

"Yes, Ser!"

The alarm sounded sometime after midnight, but the men found nothing. Irritated, the freshly-promoted Captain of the Guards herself had helped in with the search, but still they only achieved to waste more time. Something wasn't right; Ewald was a good guardsman, having even served as a Captain himself before Jeven got his dirty paws on the position. He would not have roused such attention without a serious reason. Frowning, the Ferelden willed herself to act wisely.

"I'm sorry Captain, I seems like I've been mistaken. I swear I thought I saw someone sneaking around, though." The man frowned, clearly disappointed with himself and his poor judgement, and Aveline tried to rub her headache way. She was already starting to lose sleep as it was, with the juridical and organisational mess her predecessor helped create, she certainly did not need this. Not now, not ever.

"At ease, Lieutenant, we will not speak of this now, it is already late, and we've lost enough sleep as it is. Make sure that the night patrols return to their posts and that everyone else is dismissed until dawn. Practice shall be held an hour later tomorrow." She instructed firmly, but not unkindly.

Ewald saluted and hesitated only for a moment before making himself scarce. Silently, Aveline noted that the men were still in need of adjusting to her. "More practice wouldn't hurt, either." She muttered irritably under her breath.

Crossing the hall, she thought she'd heard noises coming from the Capita- _her_ office- she remembered herself. For a second, she silenced her breathing, straining her ears, and, without fail, she heard it again. Sweet Andraste, was she in dire need of some sleep.

She took a step towards the door, wariness on her face, and there was no denying that something- or better said someone- was playing with her nerves.

"Alright scum, you have some nerves to snoop around my office! Show yourself!"

A shadow moved, and then there was light, so suddenly Aveline was briefly blinded.

A torch, the basted fool had the gall to light up a torch!

"Guard-Captain, I need your help."

The redhead warrior blinked, taken aback by the familiar voice.

"Sebastian?" There was a tense silence before the prince convinced her was indeed in no need of her sword, and Aveline tucked it away in disappointment. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"

"The back supplies door, I didn't want to be seen or cause panic. I guess I only halfway succeed." The man answered; a silent disappointment in his expression as spoke.

"The back door? But it is always locked!"

"I am a rogue, Guard-Captain, I know how to pick locks." There was an irony not fit for a person of the faith there, somewhere.

"I do not appreciate your tone, prince." The warrior frowned, falling back to her earlier indisposition, now that no possible danger was distracting her from her exhaustion. "Why were you so dead-set on barging in like that in the first place?" The question was well justified, and Aveline wasted no more energy to keep her agitation in check.

"I didn't know what to do with her…I thought you would be better fit to handle this situation."

It took The Captain only another second to take in the sight around her and realise there was someone else with them.

On one of the chairs, unconscious, was Bethany, and she was bruised enough to cause some worry. _'…enough for Hawke to have my head for letting it happen, should he ever find about it…surely.' _Pushing the thought away, Aveline frowned even harder.

"Maker, what happened to her?"

"A group of Pretenders, not in a very great number, but more than plenty of them. I noticed the fight from the Chantry and went to help, but it still took a lot out of her. She collapsed shortly after fire-balling a man to death." Involuntarily, the slightest hint of pride chimed in his words.

For only a brief moment more, Aveline took in the situation, and soon after she kneeled by Bethany's side.

"She'll be fine, she just need to sleep. You did well to bring her here." She commented, approval in her sober, green eyes.

"I sure hope so." The prince muttered, preparing to take his leave. Hesitantly, he took another long look at Bethany and turned. "I will be heading back to my duties now, Guards-Captain. Thank you."

"Yes, you do that." She prompted, kindly. "And Sebastian, thank you for looking out for her." The woman smiled, a troubled smile, but an honest one nevertheless. "Hawke and his family are like a family of my own. Had something happened to Bethany…I wouldn't have forgiven myself, and it was my duty to protect her, not yours; you could have very well chosen not to do it... You did, though."

In the dim light, he smiled. The warrior couldn't have possibly known how wrong she was.

As if there was ever any talk of choices...

* * *

Sebastian furrowed his brow. "Hawke is back?" How had he missed it?

"Yes, he, the pirate, the dwarf and the abomination came back a few days ago, all in one piece." Fenris answered sourly, most likely displeased with the fact that Anders was still very much alive and would continue to poison the world with his magic. A few months back, maybe the prince would have approved of this anger, but at that time, unlike the elf, he wanted to believe that there was still some hope for the man, no matter how doubtful that was. Then again, in Sebastian's case there were the helping circumstances that he had already started not to judge mages so harshly, and that he hadn't suffered atrocities at the hands of maleficars…

"Tell me, Fenris, how have you heard of this so quickly?"

The elf snored, tone maybe amused, certainly caustic. "Unlike you, priest, I visit the Hanged Man once in a while. Even short as he is, the dwarf would have been hard not to notice."

Sebastian smiled wirily. "So I think. Thank you for letting me know."

The warrior nodded curly and turned to go, but stopped in his track for a second longer.

"Next time you see Hawke, be careful not to mention his sister." He told him over his shoulder, and only after that was he gone…

Uneasily, the prince tried to get his thought back into his routine, but it was of no use.

"Why did he have to say that?"

* * *

It was two more days after that particular discussion that Sebastian actually got in touch with any member of the Hawke family; more specifically on the day Garrett finally decided to visit. It was not a cheerful reunion, to say it as it was, with Hawke not in the best of shapes and the archer a bit too eager for information. It was only due to the prince's well-studied, carefully-enforced discipline and tact that he had not made a fool out of himself.

"Sebastian, good to see you. I trust the Chantry hasn't changed much since I've been here? Or am I mistaken? I thought I saw some new drawings on that door down the hall, some… interesting ones, for certain." That was such a typical Hawke thing to say that Sebastian unwillingly smiled.

"Certainly not! I should know; I clean the halls every other day." The dark-haired man in front of him laughed. "It's good to see you back and well, too. What happened? Did you find anything down there?"

The laughter stopped, and Garrett nodded, his tiredness showing. "It was the whole, fantastic adventure, with monsters, rescue missions, hidden treasures and even an epic betrayal at the end. A _really_ long story, I'll say…"

"I'm sure it's worth listening to; The Grand Cleric won't mind if I take some time for myself, it's already past noon, nothing interesting is bound to happen at least until the next sermon starts." The prince explained, smiling surely, and motioned for the man to take a seat with him on a nearby bench, away from the Sisters' sharp ears. "I would be interested in hearing this story of yours, if you feel up to it."

He laughed again, but it was not an easy laugh. "Whenever do I not?"

The story was indeed a fascinating one, and, while Hawke wasn't as skilled as Varric in the art of story-telling, he was a wonderful orator. Sebastian supposed he had to be, having been the head of a family and in charge of people's lives since an early age.

It wouldn't do not to know how to talk yourself or you apostate sister out of troubles.

_'Focus, Sebastian, focus. You do not want to go there…' _He really needed to learn to keep his thoughts in check.

"I wish it had all ended when we got out of those tunnels, but when doesn't everything that could go wrong, _go_ wrong?" The man sighed, completely put up. "Have you heard about Bethany?"

Sebastian's head spun, and suddenly he had the strangest sentiment of dread take over him. He prayed with everything in him that this was not going where he suspected it did. "What about her?"

"She'd been taken to the Circle the very day I returned. Just what I wanted to find when I got home: Templars, holding my sister by the arms… I apologise if I sound bitter, I just…" He rubbed him temples, cast a fugitive look at the strained-glass windows. "I went away for the sake of my family, but I failed to protect it anyway, _because_ of it."

"I understand what you must be feeling, I myself sometimes wonder what would have happened if I haven't left home, If maybe I could have saved someone." The read-head shook his head, and by doing it, chased away the memories. "But we must all accept our past and try to look out for the future. There is a purpose behind everything; we are never out of the Maker's gaze." He felt certainty in that, and his eyes showed it.

Hawke seemed to ponder the words for a moment, before he exhaled deeply and tilted his head upwards, to study the light passing through the lattice above him. "And still…Bethany's words from before I went on the expedition ring in my head, sometimes, 'It's either Templars or darkspawns, and I'm at least allowed to fight darkspawns.'. I wonder what would've happened if I'd taken her with me, then. I cannot help but feel that things would have turned out a lot different."

"True, but that is not for us to know. We just have to make do with what we have. If it helps, I'll talk with the Grand Cleric and see if there's anything we could do to allow Bethany to attend sermons at the Chantry, that way you'll be able to see her from time to time, make sure she is well." It was the honourable thing to do, Sebastian told himself, and it had nothing to do with his personal interest in the mage.

"You're a good man Sebastian, and a good friend, too." The dagger-wielder commented jestingly, once again sounding like the Hawke everyone knew. "Who would have guessed? And I though everyone in the Chantry was evil and snobbish." Garrett laughed again, that easy laughed that put everybody at ease around him, and Sebastian smiled, despise the tension their discussion had put on him.

"I'm always glad to prove you wrong."

"Most people are, although for the life of me I couldn't tell you why." He stood, smirking, and turned to leave. "I'll be at the Hanged Man if you'll need me; I've still to drown my sorrow into alcohol."

The archer's face lowered in disapproval, and his companion laughed again.

"That isn't very clever!" Was the only remark the prince allowed himself to make. In all honesty, it wasn't his place to judge.

"But who knows, maybe the other options would have been worse!" Immediately after, Hawke turned, shook his head, and dismissed him with a flick of his hand.

Sebastian couldn't have helped it but think that he wasn't talking about drinking.


End file.
